The Golem of Solomon's Way

by Jon Messenger

  “It is,” Simon confirmed. “It’s a very rare find indeed. I’ve only seen it in use once before, quite recently in fact.”

  “It paralyzes the muscles while—” the doctor began.

  “While leaving the victim fully aware of their surroundings.”

  “That means she would have been aware of her mutilation,” Mattie said breathlessly. “Even as she was bleeding to death, she would have known. How horrible.”

  Simon had to agree with her. He couldn’t imagine a more horrid way to die than to be fully aware and cognizant of your brutal attack. However, the use of Curare had to be more than just a mere coincidence. Luthor may have become familiarized with the drug as a result of his apothecary studies, but it was hardly known to the general populace. It couldn’t be mere coincidence that so rare a drug was used first by the mysterious troll cannibal and then by a murderer, with both events happening in Solomon’s Way. Did Simon miss something by turning over the case to the constabulary rather than further investigating the troll and his hovel?

  “Your autopsy is very thorough,” Simon remarked as he pushed the file aside. “Top marks for your attention to detail.”

  Casan nodded as though expecting the compliment. “I pride myself on my work.”

  “This was not the only case, I presume,” the Inquisitor said, pointing to the remaining files. At quick glance, there seemed to be over half a dozen more resting on the floor.

  “No, you were quite correct about that as well.” The doctor lifted the files and set them on the table between them. “Though the good detective is hesitant to link all these murders together—and rightfully so, as there are serious differences between the methodologies—I find too many similarities to simply ignore the potential connection.”

  “Let’s start with the most recent,” Simon said. “While we were in your morgue, Detective Sugden seemed to insinuate that there had been another murder shortly before Gloria’s untimely demise.”

  Casan lifted the top file and set in before the Inquisitor. Flipping the file open, he pointed to the picture pinned to the inside flap. “There was, indeed, a murder nearly a week before your friend.”

  Despite the deathly pallor on the woman’s face, he recognized her immediately. Simon had a remarkable knack for recalling faces and names and, though he only saw her for a moment, her face looked practically unchanged. His gaze drifted to the handwritten notes, where her name was printed across the top of the page.

  “Abigail Traunt,” he muttered.

  “The woman attacked by the troll on the bridge?” Luthor asked.

  “One and the same.” Simon read the autopsy, and his frown deepened. “Killed no more than a day after her miraculous rescue. Also paralyzed by Curare, I see?”

  “Very similar circumstances between the two deaths,” Doctor Casan confirmed.

  “Indeed, though it was her left arm that was removed in a similar fashion?” Simon asked.

  “As I mentioned before, it was a very similar crime with comparable techniques employed but just slightly different facts. However, those two are the only ones in which you will find drastic similarities. Each lady was dismembered in some fashion, though the method of removal often varied, as did the method for subduing the woman.”

  “I read about these crimes in the newspaper,” Mattie said. “It stated that they were all ladies of the night.”

  Simon frowned as he glanced at her, not eager to begin their heated debate once more.

  “Believe me, madam, the actual crimes are far more violent than the newspapers would have you believe.”

  “They usually are,” Simon remarked.

  He opened the files one at a time and examined their contents. Doctor Casan was correct that the crimes were similar but with drastic differences as well. The earliest crimes were savage, often committed on women who weren’t subdued so much as beaten to unconsciousness. The removal of limbs was actually ragged and coarse, not refined like the later crimes, often leaving torn sockets and loose sinew at the site of extraction. One of the crimes had no name associated, other than “Doe, Jane”. The woman’s head had been removed, and there had been no other method through which to identify the body.

  “Save Gloria,” Simon began, “they were all ladies of the night, attacked at late hours when there wouldn’t be many witnesses roaming the streets of Solomon’s Way. It appears almost that the crimes evolved as the killer’s technique improved. Even the technique for subjugation changed, from physical violence to chloroform to Curare. What I don’t understand is the count. Thus far, there have been three severed legs, four arms, and a head. For what purpose would someone need such a bizarre assortment of body parts?”

  “I couldn’t begin to surmise,” Casan said as he glanced toward the others, inviting a differing opinion. Luthor and Mattie, however, remained silent.

  “Is there at least continuity with the murder weapon?” Simon asked. He flipped through a couple of reports, skimming the doctor’s atrocious handwriting.

  “Weapons, plural,” the doctor corrected. “Aside from the more garish rending of limbs in the first victims, the rest have been fairly congruent. One blade was used to sever flesh and sinew, a fairly long one and smooth on its edge. Once our killer reached bone, he switched to a serrated blade, one capable of cutting cleanly through. Based off the length and direction of the cuts, I would venture a guess that it was a bone saw, similar to one I would use during an autopsy.”

  “Then our killer has received medical training?” Luthor asked, adjusting his wire-frame glasses.

  “Or, at the very least, has access to medical supplies,” Casan confirmed.

  Simon waved his hand dismissively. “That’s hardly helpful. The medical profession and its related supplies aren’t exactly held in high esteem. No offense, Doctor.”

  Casan seemed insulted but refrained from replying.

  “The use of a bone saw doesn’t make this case any clearer, though the techniques do lend itself toward a doctor of sorts, or a veterinarian at the very least. In a city of this size, though, that still leaves a vexingly large number of potential suspects. Vexing, indeed.”

  Simon stood and walked around the table, stopping at the liquor cabinet. “I find a drink clears my mind and helps me think. Would anyone else care for one?”

  Luthor and Mattie politely shook their heads. “Doctor?” Simon asked.

  “Forgive me for begging off, but no and thank you,” Casan replied. “I don’t partake.”

  Simon arched an eyebrow. “If you don’t drink, then perhaps you have an affinity for the fairer sex? Do you frequent these dens of iniquity, the ones from which a fair number of our victims have originated?”

  Casan blushed furiously but shook his head. “I most certainly do not.”

  “Every man has a vice,” Simon explained as he finished pouring his drink. He walked back to the sofa and sat before the open files. “If a man claims to have none, there’s no way I can properly trust him.”

  “The constables,” the doctor said, pointing at the files and clearly trying to change the subject, “are as confused as you and me, Inquisitor.”

  “Well, of course they are,” Simon remarked as he took a sip of his scotch. “What they gain in sheer numbers, they clearly lack in intellect and a discerning eye. In fact, your skills would clearly serve you well should you desire a position as a Royal Inquisitor.”

  “You flatter me, sir,” Casan replied, “but my true passion has led me to where I am now, though I thank you for the offer.”

  Simon eyed the autopsy reports on the table before him and frowned as he absently swirled the brown liquor in his glass. “Do you, perchance, have any files or evidence pertaining to the crime scene?” the Inquisitor asked.

  “Sadly no. I was only able to bring my personal reports. Detective Sugden is in direct control of the actual police reports.”

  Simon frowned deeper and returned his attention to the files. The crime scene reports, even written in a sub-par manne
r by the constabulary, would be greatly beneficial. After perusing a few more of the coroner’s reports, one of the names listed gave him pause. He stared at it for a few moments before recognition spread across his face.

  “Did you find something, sir?” Luthor asked, noting the familiar expression.

  Simon quickly concealed his excitement and glanced apologetically toward the doctor. “Thank you very much for your assistance, Doctor, but I need to confer with my associates in private.”

  The doctor appeared stunned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he sought the words. “I don’t understand. Have I offended you in some way?”

  Simon shook his head. “Nothing of the sort; in fact, quite the opposite. You’ve been instrumental in starting our investigation. However, what transpires from here is solely in the realm of the Inquisitors, of which you are not. Good day to you, sir.”

  The Inquisitor stacked the folders neatly before handing them to the startled doctor. Casan stood hesitantly, clearly unused to being so readily dismissed. Luthor stood as well and ushered the man toward the door. Simon smiled at the sight; the diminutive apothecary leading the towering doctor toward the foyer. Doctor Casan stole another glance, his arms laden with folders, as Luthor opened the door and gently ushered him outside. As the door closed, Luthor sighed and turned back toward his friend.

  “That was a bit callous,” he said as he returned to his seat. “He was only trying to help.”

  “Help he did, most assuredly,” Simon replied.

  “Was Luthor right?” Mattie asked. “Did you note something?”

  Simon smiled. “I did. One of the victims was Katheryn Harder-Schauer, a married woman from Solomon’s Way who, until recently, worked at a bakery. She was hardly a woman of the night.”

  Luthor frowned, feeling as though Simon’s great realization did little to advance the investigation. “Then we have no common thread tying the victims together. The crimes are, more or less, random.”

  “On the contrary, my dear apothecary, there is a most distinct pattern for those willing to see it. All the victims were young women between the ages of seventeen and thirty, attractively built and of remarkable beauty, lived or worked within Solomon’s Way, and had occupations that kept them out until the wee hours of the morning.”

  “From what I’ve seen, you’ve just described a vast majority of the women within Solomon’s Way,” Mattie replied, “including, I might add, your own fiancée.”

  Simon paused, his hand half-raised, and took in a deep breath. He was about to reply when the door swung open and Veronica appeared in the foyer. The men quickly stood and Veronica, startled that everyone was present in Simon’s sitting room, paused halfway through the doorway.

  “Veronica.” Simon sighed, genuinely glad to see her again. “Welcome back. I was worried when I returned and you were gone.”

  Veronica rubbed underneath her eyes, smoothing away the puffiness that resulted from her crying. Her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks flushed. The half veil concealed much of the evidence of her tears, but it was still obvious on a simple observation that she was distraught.

  “Forgive me,” she said hoarsely. “I didn’t realize everyone would still be here. I had just gone out for a walk, to get some fresh air.”

  Simon walked past the others and stepped into the foyer. “How are you, my love?”

  She glanced over his shoulder, to where Luthor and Mattie watched them both. “I’m doing well,” she replied, though Simon could sense she wasn’t saying all that she wanted to. “If you’ll excuse me, all the walking has left me tired. I think I’ll go lay down upstairs.”

  “Of course,” Simon replied. “My home is your home.”

  Veronica stopped as she was about to climb the stairs. “I think it would be better if I returned to my apartment, perhaps tonight. It would be unsightly for us to be living together before our wedding.”

  Simon furrowed his brow. “Are you certain? I didn’t think you’d want to go back any time soon, what with the apartment being a constant reminder of… well…”

  “I know very well what you mean, and I appreciate your consideration,” Veronica said. “However, I have work and a life beyond just my time with you, Simon. It won’t do for me to have to travel from the Upper Reaches to the Ace of Spades every night just to go to work.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” he replied.

  She smiled softly and touched his cheek before turning and climbing the stairs. He watched her disappear onto the second-floor landing and waited for the click of the bedroom door to close before turning back toward his friends.

  “She really is the spitting image of the victims’ descriptions,” he said as he returned to the sitting room. “If she’s intent on returning to Solomon’s Way, she certainly won’t be doing it alone.”

  “She seemed fairly adamant that you and she weren’t going to be living together before the wedding,” Luthor replied.

  Simon smiled. “Which is exactly why I won’t be the one accompanying her.” He turned toward Mattie. “You will.”

  “Me?” Mattie asked in surprise. “Why me?”

  “She won’t live with me, and it would be uncouth to have Luthor staying with her. You’re the only viable option. Regardless, you’re both women. I’m sure there are plenty of things you have in common.”

  Mattie scowled. “I don’t know if you recall, but I’m not exactly the delicate female type. I don’t know the first thing about makeup or fixing hair. I’m a werewolf, for crying out loud. What good would I be to such an effeminate woman?”

  Simon smiled as he sat on the sofa beside her. “You being a werewolf is exactly the reason I want you to keep her company. Someone may be brave enough to attack even the two of you together, but I can guarantee it’ll be the last thing he does in this life.”

  Luthor and Simon both looked at her hopefully, but she merely crossed her arms and continued to scowl at them both, a low growl rolling from deep in her chest.

  When Mattie was packed, she and Veronica set off toward the apartment. Neither woman looked pleased with the arrangement, but Simon had been very convincing when explaining it was for her protection. Until the killer was caught, he wanted to ensure her safety.

  “She’ll kill you in your sleep some day for this, sir,” Luthor said through his broad smile as he watched the two women climb into a taxi.

  “Veronica or Matilda?” Simon asked as he waved to the ladies.

  “Both, I’m sure.”

  The black car pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. They watched it turn at the next intersection and disappear from view before they turned to one another.

  “They’re gone now, sir, so what is it that we will be doing in the meantime?”

  Simon stroked his chin. “We, Luthor, will be investigating a murder. Doctor Casan’s notes were thorough enough to name the location in which Gloria’s body was found. We will examine the scene for clues.”

  “Didn’t the constabulary already do that?”

  “Assuming the constabulary were as thorough as a Royal Inquisitor merely because they were there first is like saying the city butcher is as qualified as the king’s personal chef merely because he handled the meat beforehand. We will find clues that they overlooked.”

  Luthor sighed and reached inside, retrieving his bowler’s cap from the hat rack. He placed it on his head, pressing down his unruly hair. Simon canted his top hat before they set off, walking toward Solomon’s Way rather than take a taxi. He said it was so that he would have the proper time to think, but Luthor assumed it was so that Mattie and Veronica would be well at home before they arrived in the city district, especially with the crime scene so close to the apartment building.

  The walk during the day was uneventful. In contrast to nighttime, it was the Upper Reaches that was so very alive during the day, with politicians and workers meandering the streets at all hours. By the time they reached the bridge, the crowds had noticeably thinned. A few
people passed the pair, but otherwise, they were left to their own devices.

  During the day, Solomon’s Way looked unkempt. Clothes hung from lines draped between the buildings, drying in the warm sunshine. Refuse and debris was left on the sidewalks, sometimes in metal bins but more often than not just resting on the ground, to be swept away by either the breeze or unruly children. A few people were outside, grocery shopping or the like, but most were inside asleep. Solomon’s Way was a district that thrived at night, and the businesses therein catered to their night-owl populace.

  The main thoroughfare from the bridge quickly transformed from apartments and townhouses into nightclubs and music halls, the greatest of which stood at the end of the road: the Ace of Spades. They were closed during the day and looked sadly depressing. Without the fluorescent lights illuminating their brightly painted walls, they looked wildly out of place and mildly decrepit. The bright paint looked garish and comical in the daylight.

  Simon led Luthor from the main road and down a side street, filled to capacity with rows of townhouses. The homes were far narrower than the ones in which Simon and Luthor lived. The apothecary frowned at the sight, wondering exactly what could be fit inside a building that was only wide enough for a doorway and a single narrow window that he assumed looked in on a living room of sorts.

  Past the terrace of townhouses, taller apartment buildings rose over the street. A wooden sawhorse, painted blue in the constabulary colors, blocked an alleyway nearby. It was shaded, even in the bright sunlight. As they approached, they noted that someone had gone through great pains to clean up the blood that had marred the ground, though their efforts were in vain. A dark brown stain, nearly black in the shade, was still visible. Rather than being in the shape of an amorphous blob of blood, it was now spread wider in slowly widening circles, as though a scrub brush had been futilely applied during the cleaning. Simon pulled the sawhorse aside and stepped into the alley.

  “What do you hope to find, sir?” Luthor asked. “They’ve already cleaned. I can only assume a multitude of people have passed through here, investigating the crime.”